


The Moment

by PengyChan



Series: Heaven and Earth [1]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/pseuds/PengyChan
Summary: A childhood dream can fade, or turn into something more. And sometimes you can tell the exact moment of the change.[They were kids, once.]





	The Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what movie I fell in love with this time and also guess who still is a complete sucker for backstory fics.

“This is not gonna work.”

“It’s going to work perfectly. I climb on your shoulders, we put this on, and they’ll let us through. Easy!”

“They’ll never ever fall for it. You don’t look like an adult.”

“I can fix that. I got some coal.”

“... And?”

“I’ll draw myself a mustache! And… and a beard! They’ll fall for it, no worries. Just let me do the talking.”

There was no way Ernesto could pass off as an adult with just some coal smeared a face that was very obviously that of a twelve-year-old, but Héctor chose not to remark on that. “Speaking of talking, you don’t sound like an adult, either.”

“Hey! My voice is deeper than yours!”

“That’s not saying much, you know.”

Ernesto frowned, but he didn’t say anything, and that meant he was conceding the point. As he glared down at the coat he’d taken from his papá’s closet - he’d risked one hell of a beating there and would risk another if caught when returning it, but he claimed it was worth the risk to finally get into a cantina - Héctor took advantage of the silence to press another point home.

“Also, I don’t think I can walk around with you on my shoulders,” he added. He was tall for his eight years, but he was also gangly and not very strong. Ernesto was older, bigger, and of course heavier. “I’d just collapse after three steps, amigo.”

“What if I carry you instead?” Ernesto said, but sounded unconvinced himself. If he had few chances of looking and sounding like an adult, Héctor had even fewer.

“You know that’s not gonna work, right?”

Ernesto’s frown deepened, and he chewed his lower lip, trying to smooth down his hair with one hand. Though nowhere as shaggy as Héctor’s own, there was this tuft of hair on the side of his head that was always sticking out, no matter what. “If I do the talking and you just, uh, move your mouth…?”

Héctor stared in silence, but the look on his face had to be enough to convey just how desperate and desperately stupid that idea was, because Ernesto finally let out a groan, throwing up his hands as though in surrender. He let himself drop back on the ground, which was all dirt and twigs and dying grass, and glared up at the tree branches above. Héctor could almost hear the gears in his head turning, but in the end he said nothing.

_All out of ideas, then._

With a sigh, Héctor let himself drop down next to him and looked up as well. The sun shone through the branches, and they were far enough from the town centre to hear nothing but the cries of cicadas and the wind in the trees. It was peaceful, but of course he knew Ernesto wasn’t enjoying it at all. He had really wanted to get inside the cantina for that evening’s music night. Héctor would have liked that too, sure, but he could wait; Ernesto, on the other hand, could _never_ wait. When he wanted something he wanted it now and desperately, like he was on fire and whatever he wanted to reach was the only thing that could extinguish the flames. Héctor didn’t envy him, because that kind of longing seemed almost painful.

And nine times out of ten, that had something to do with music.

The toll of a bell caused Héctor to recoil and sit up, twigs in his hair. “Midday! I need to go help papá - I forgot all about it!” he exclaimed, and jumped on his feet. In doing so he nearly stepped on the abandoned coat on the ground. He paused and glanced down at Ernesto, who was still scowling up at the sky, hands folded under his head.

“You should get this back in place before your father comes back home,” he suggested, picking it up. Ernesto’s eyes barely flickered towards it, and he made a face.

“It can rot here for all I care.”

“Your father’s gonna kill you if he doesn’t find it at home.”

“Pffft,” Ernesto scoffed, his face a mask of indifference, but he did sit up and reach for the coat. Héctor hesitated, not really wanting to run off and leave best friend looking so down in the dumps. After all, his papá wouldn’t mind if he were a bit late.

“Your father is at the cantina pretty often. Maybe he’s gonna take you there when you’re older,” he added. It seemed like a reasonable thing to say, but Ernesto clearly disagreed.

“When I’m older!” he repeated, gasping like Héctor had just cursed his mother’s name in front of him. “Ay, how can you say this to me! You may as well tell me to die here and now!”

_Oh boy. Here we go._

“I cannot wait until I’m older!” Ernesto proclaimed, jumping on his feet and letting the coat drop on the ground again to raise a hand to his chest, clutching at his shirt above the heart. “My soul will wither and die unless I feed it!”

“Uh, right. I have, like, a chorizo and--”

“With music, Héctor! I’m talking about music!”

“How about you come at my place this evening, then? We can practice together. Not like getting in the cantina to see the show, but-- oh, knock it off!” Héctor protested, but he couldn’t hold back a laugh when Ernesto dramatically dropped on his knees, arms lifted above his head, the over-the-top pained expression already starting to give in to a grin.

“Ay, but that’s not enough! I must seize my moment! No one ever accomplished anything by waiting! Can’t you hear my soul crying for music?”

“I hear the cicadas. You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me?” Ernesto repeated, managing to sound shocked despite the grin that was still pulling up the corners of his mouth. He threw back his head - dramatically - and rested the back of his hand on his forehead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Dramatic, me! Ay, mi corazón!”

“Pffft- haha! Stop it”

“Ay Héctor, mi hermanito, your mockery is killin-- whoa!”

It wasn’t often that Héctor managed to tackle Ernesto, but this time he had the surprise factor on his side, and his scarce weight was enough to throw him back, casing both to roll down the side of the small hill. By the time they stopped rolling Ernesto was laughing, too, and that was definitely a victory - even though he managed to trap Héctor in a chokehold under his arm and ruffle his hair, which was something he usually hated.

“Hahahah! You’re loco, you know that?” Ernesto guwaffed, and finally let him go.

“Un poco,” Héctor replied with a grin, trying to get twigs and pine needles out of his hair, and stood. “I really have to go now. Don’t worry too much about the music show, all right? There will be others when we’re old enough to get into that cantina. Or to pass off as someone old enough,” he added.  

Ernesto didn’t seem to be especially happy about it when Héctor had to run off towards his father’s shop, but he didn’t get all dramatic again, and he supposed that was as good as it could get.

* * *

“Last delivery of the day, thank God. My poor back. Héctor, can you knock the door?”

Héctor looked up from the piece of paper where he’d been scribbling with a pencil - not the easiest thing to do on a moving horse cart, but he could manage - to reply that sure, he’d do it right away. Still words died in his throat when he realized exactly where they were: it was the cantina he and Ernesto wanted to sneak in to listen to the musicians that evening.

“... The cantina?” he found himself saying, and his father shrugged.

“Yes. They ordered quite a lot of food and drinks - for some kind of event tonight, I believe,” he said, and climbed off the cart to grab one of the crates. “Go knock.”

Héctor had to knock a couple of times before there were steps from the other side and the door opened. The owner of the cantina looked somewhat tipsy already, but that only made him friendly enough to laugh at Héctor and ruffle his hair. “Hello, niño. Helping out your papá, aren’t you? ‘Evening, Ricardo. Come in, come in!”

The cantina was empty, with the exception of a guy - the owner’s son - who was cleaning a few tables. At the far end, Héctor could see the space reserved to musicians; within hours, the place would be filled with music that neither him nor Ernesto could listen to. The thought stung a bit; he’d have liked to see it, too, if not as ardently as Ernesto.

“It’s going to be a big evening, but honest to God I can’t wait for it to be over - so much extra work! A drink, Ricardo?”

“That would be much appreciated, thank you. Héctor, do you mind unloading the crates?” Héctor’s father added, looking back at him. He usually did the heavy lifting himself - his son just wasn’t old or big enough to be of much help there - and his back must be bothering him a lot for him to ask that of him now. Héctor immediately nodded.

“Sure, papá.”

“What a good boy! Too young to drink, but we’ll toast to you!” the cantina’s owner laughed, and nodded towards a door on the left. “That’s the storage room, muchacho. Get the crates in before your papá is done drinking, and I might have a snack ready for you.”

The storage room in question turned out to be small, so much so that Héctor needed to stake most crates on top of each other. By the time he was done he was drenched in sweat, his arms ached, and he almost walked out without noticing the window. Almost.

The cantina was below the ground, and the small dirty window was rather high up the wall, but still at ground level outside. It was too small for an adult to get through, but maybe… just maybe...

“Héctor? Everything all right in there?”

He recoiled, and knew he had to act fast - seize his moment, as Ernesto would say. “Just stacking a couple of crates - done in a minute!” he yelled back, and the next moment he was climbing up the crates to peer outside, fervently hoping that no one would walk in right then, requiring explanations he couldn’t give.

As he’d expected, the window was at ground level; he could see the wheels of his father’s cart from there. It was also big enough for him to fit through it. Ernesto would have to squirm a bit, maybe, but still… yes, Héctor was rather sure he could fit through it.

_Seize it._

Quickly, his heart beating somewhere in his throat, Héctor reached for the latch and lifted it, hoping that no one would notice, that they would just assume the window was still closed. He jumped off the crates and went to the door just on time: the next moment his father was at in the doorframe, looking slightly concerned.

“Maybe those were too heavy for you, mijo,” he said, an apologetic note in his voice, and Héctor grinned up at him, flexing his bare arms to show off non-existent muscle.

“Not at all! I’m stronger than I look!” he declared, puffing out his chest, and dad laughed.

“Haha! That good to know. Come, Álvaro wasn’t kidding when he said he’d make you a snack...”

* * *

“Aren’t you eating, Tito?”

“I’m not hungry, mamá. Can you stop calling me that?”

“As you wish, Ernestito.”

“... Come to think of it, Tito is fine.”

His mother laughed, and ruffled his hair. “I thought so. Is something wrong?”

Telling her exactly what was bothering him was out of question; Ernesto would sooner bite off his tongue than telling his mother that he wanted to sneak into a cantina to watch musicians play that evening. Music was not the problem, but cantinas were; she had made him promise her time and time again that, even once he was all grown up, he would never go into one. Whether that was despite or because of the amount of time his father spent in them, Ernesto wasn’t sure. And to think he wasn’t even interested in drinking. He just wanted to listen to the music.

“Tito?”

Ernesto recoiled, realizing she was still expecting an answer. She looked worried and well, that was fair enough: he usually wolfed down his food instead of moving it around the plate without taking a single bite.

“Oh, that… must be something I ate,” he lied. “I had a chorizo or two at the Rivera’s.”

She raised an eyebrow, putting her hands on her hips. “In other words, you stuffed your face this afternoon and can’t eat anything more?”

He gave her what he hoped was a charming grin. “Afraid so.”

“You know I hate throwing food away, Tito.”

“Heh. Sorry?”

Her attempt at a frown faded right away. She could never, ever stay mad at him for long. Or at all, really: all he had to do was to smile, head tilted on one side, and her anger would melt away. _He’s too much of a charmer,_ she’d laughed once, talking to a neighbor. _Mi papá was just like that, too._

“It’s all delicious, but I feel a little nauseous…” Ernesto added, and she sighed, her hand resting on his forehead for a moment.

“Then go to sleep. But give that food to the chickens first. At least _someone_ should enjoy it.”

He did, tip-toeing across the living room, where his father was snoring away on the couch. He’d been already asleep when he’d returned home, which was good all things considered, since it had allowed him to return his coat without being spotted. He threw the food at the chickens, then tip-toed back in and upstairs in his room. He closed the door behind him with a sigh, leaning against it.

There was an old battered guitar leaning against the opposite wall, but practicing was out of question, with his father sleeping downstairs. Maybe he should have taken Héctor’s invitation to go practice at his place. He could do that now: he’d sneaked out plenty of times, climbing down the window with the guitar on his back, to--

_Thud._

“Huh?”

Ernesto turned to the window just on time to hear another thudding noise, like something being thrown against the wall outside his bedroom. That wasn’t unusual, either, and there was only one person who’d try to get his attention like that after dark. He walked up to the window and opened it to look outside in the dark.

“Héctor? Is that-- ow!” Ernesto yelped when something - a rock - struck him right in the face, causing him to stumble back. He landed on his back and reached for his nose with both hands, tears blurring his sight. “ _Yowch_! What the-- seriously?”

“Oh! Sorry! I’m sorry!” Héctor’s whisper - well, some kind of yelled whisper anyway - came from outside. “I didn’t mean to hit you! Are you all right? Neto?”

With a groan, Ernesto stood and walked to the window, still pressing a hand on his nose. “Next time try to miss the window,” he hissed. He could just make out Héctor’s figure, standing in the dark below his window.

“Sorry. Is your face all right?”

“I think so.”

“Oh, good. That’s a relief. I mean, it’s about eighty percent of your assets.”

“Pfft, _thanks._ First you stone me and now this - that’s what amigos are for. What are you doing here?” Ernesto whispered back, leaning out. “You didn’t come here just to stone me, did you?”

“No! I’m taking you to the cantina!”

Ernesto blinked. “What?”

“Did I hit your ear? I said I’m taking you to listen to the musicians at the cantina! Come on down!”

“Did you hit your head?”

“I found a way in! Come on, I’ll explain on the way and-- wait, climb slowly! What if you fall down and-- hey! Careful ther--!”

_Thump._

“Ooof!”

The fall wasn’t as nasty as it could have been - he’d only slipped off halfway through the descent and there were bushes to cushion the fall - but it did leave Ernesto breathless for a moment or two. It was nothing, though. And even if he’d hurt something, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to stay there for anything short of a broken neck.

“Ernesto? Are you all right? Please _please_ don’t be dead!” Héctor’s voice reached him, now right above him. In other circumstances Ernesto would have probably played dead, just to make him freak out a bit, but this time he was too eager to move, and he immediately sat up. He grabbed Héctor’s sleeve and grinned.

“Let’s get going.”

* * *

The window was still open when they got there, to Héctor’s utter relief. It they’d come all the way to the cantina to find the latch had been closed again, he didn’t think he could deal with how disappointed and cranky Ernesto would have been.

The music could be heard faintly from the street outside and, as soon as Héctor pulled the window open - after a quick look around to make sure no one was in sight - it sounded so much clearer. Beside him, Ernesto was grinning so widely that his cheeks just had to hurt.

“Hah! I take back everything I said about you being a drag!”

“... You said what now?”

“Uh, nothing. Come on, let’s climb in before someone sees us!”

Héctor  slipped in quickly and easily, landing on a crate before stepping off it into the floor. The room was mostly dark, but he could see light coming from the other side of the door, along with the music. He turned to see that Ernesto had managed to wriggle his way in, too, and was closing the window before climbing down the crates and approaching the door. It was cracked open, and they could hear it all so clearly: the laughing, the singing, the music. Ernesto immediately went to peer inside through the crack, and so did Héctor.

The Mariachi band was playing like their lives depended on it, their fingers moving so quickly on the instruments they were hardly more than a blur. They were singing, too, but their voices were lost beneath those of everybody else in the cantina, singing along with them. 

They sounded terrible, most of them singing off-key and so drunk they slurred the words or just plainly got them wrong, and normally that would have annoyed Héctor a lot - words were just as important as the music, because you couldn’t have a good song without them - but not that time. Somehow, he found the sight - the power a song can hold - almost as fascinating as the music itself.

“They’re loving it, look,” Ernesto whispered, as though he had just read his mind. Héctor glanced sideways at him. He was staring at the scene, too, and and now there was something more than awe in his look; something that was a lot like _hunger._  It reminded him of a coyote he had seen once, staring at some chickens from the other side of a fence. It was an odd comparison to spring to his mind, and he did his best to chase it away.

“They love them. They could be singing anything, and everyone in here would sing right along,” Ernesto was adding, unaware of his thoughts, and turned back to him. “That’s what we’re gonna do, mi hermano!”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and Héctor found himself grinning back, the earlier unease already forgotten. “We’re gonna play in all the cantinas of Mexico!” he exclaimed, causing Ernesto to snicker.

“Cantinas? Nah, think bigger! We can be famous in all of Mexico!” he declared. He put an arm around Héctor’s shoulders and turned back to the crack. “We’ve just got to seize out moment when it comes. We’re going to have _crowds_ singing along with us!”

Héctor couldn’t really picture himself wowing crowds; it sounded more like something Ernesto could do, cocky and confident and ever the charmer. But he liked writing songs, he was decent with the guitar, and he could get better at both. Maybe he and Ernesto could really make a living out of that someday, leave Santa Cecilia and share music with the world. It was something they had talked about before, but until then it had been just daydreaming, vague ideas for a distant ‘someday’. Now, however, it felt different.

For a long time to come, in life and death, Héctor Rivera would never forget that one moment when, for the very first time, it had felt real - like the childhood dream was, after all, within their reach.


End file.
